August 20th, 2008
What happens when an unlikely and incredible claim gains such momentum that the eventual ridiculous truth can't help but be insulting? The Bigfoot Hoax of 2008 answered this question for three distinct demographic groups.
If you're an average person, you laugh and acknowledge that while proof of bigfoot would have been cool, the writing was on the wall for this one from the start.
If you're a legitimate cryptozoologist--don't laugh--you shake your head and wince at yet another blow to the reputation of your profession.
If you're Matt Whitton, one of the two perpetrators of the hoax, you lose your job as a Clayton County Police officer.
"Once he perpetrated a fraud, that goes into his credibility and integrity," Police Chief Jeff Turner would go on to say. "He has violated the duty of a police officer."[1]
To be fair, it is unlikely that the Clayton County Police Department new hire handbook contains policy on mythical creatures, fabricated or otherwise.
August 19th , 2008
As the horrible truth behind the hoax becomes apparent, self-described “Real Bigfoot Hunter” and "35-year veteran of the Bigfoot business" Tom Biscardi[2] begins to rethink the wisdom of hitching his wagon to Matt Whitton and Rick Dyer, the two Georgia hikers who perpetuated the hoax by claiming to be in possession of a bigfoot corpse. Biscardi doesn't exactly have the most airtight of reputations in the bigfoot community--again, don't laugh--but Whitton and Dyer were little more than two amateurs selling questionable bigfoot tours from their dubious website. They were self-described "week end warriors" converted to bigfoot enthusiasts by a 2005 camping trip that turned into "something no body expected!"[3]
Finding himself the butt of a hoax, Biscardi calls Whitton and Dyer, who freely admit their duplicitous role in the affair. Biscardi sets up a meeting with the two at a hotel and upon arrival discovers that they have fled.[4]
It is entirely possible at this point that Biscardi tried reaching Whitton and Dyer via their long-running "24-Hour Sighting Hotline," which asks for tips related to "leprechauns, unicorns, large cats, dinosaurs," as well as "Jimmy Hoffa or Elvis."[5]
August 18th, 2008
Biscardi knows his current shot at proving the existence of bigfoot hinges entirely on the frozen (alleged) corpse stored in an undisclosed location. The block of ice initially weighed an estimated 1500 pounds when it had arrived, but two days of thawing at room temperature (to avoid decomposition[4]) had melted enough ice to expose hair.
Hair is extracted and tested. When burned, the hair sample "[melts] into a ball uncharacteristic of hair."[6]
Strike one.
Biscardi decides that speeding up the thawing via heat sources is perhaps in order.
Slowly the ice recedes enough to reveal a section of the head, which is "unusually hollow in one small section."[6]
Strike two.
An hour later, the ice melts enough to expose the feet adequately for testing. The unusual nature of the feet becomes immediately apparent.
Unusual in that they are are made of rubber.[6]
Biscardi's prized bigfoot corpse is, in fact, a rubber gorilla costume full of animal innards.[5]
Strike three.
August 15th, 2008
While the block of ice was en route to an undisclosed location, Biscardi, Whitton, and Dyer hold a press conference. Biscardi had initially wanted to host the press conference after the (alleged) corpse had been examined by scientists, but Dyer and Whitton insisted addressing the press came first.
This is, presumably, because they wanted a press conference, which the discovery of a rubber gorilla costume full of animal innards doesn't typically merit.
Biscardi steps up to the podium and explains that while the (alleged) body won't be presented, he does have the results of tests done on DNA (allegedly) extracted from the (alleged) corpse.[7] The press had been hoping for an actual body but this would have to do.
Flanked by Whitton and Dyer, Biscardi reveals that the three DNA samples have been identified as follows: one human, one possum, and one inconclusive.[7]
Of note: none of the three belong to a strain of bigfoot.
Also of note: none of the three even belong to a rubber gorilla costume full of animal innards.
Biscardi suggests that perhaps the bigfoot specimen had eaten a possum shortly before death, which would account for the DNA. The proof is coming, though, and all skeptics will fall silent when Biscardi finally brandishes the corpse[7]--for real this time--which is currently en route to an undisclosed location.
When how much money he expects to make from this (alleged) discovery, Biscardi replies, "As much as I possibly can."[7]
On a perhaps unrelated note, it is around this time that Biscardi begins to charge for photos of the (alleged) corpse on his website.[5]
August 14th, 2008
Also perhaps unrelated: Searching for Bigfoot, Inc, the group that Biscardi founded and leads as CEO, pays Whitton and Dyer an undisclosed sum for the (alleged) corpse.
Undisclosed, perhaps, but reports indicate that the proven market rate for a rubber gorilla costume full of animal innards is $50,000, give or take a bill or two.[8]
August 1st, 2008
Biscardi travels to Georgia to inspect the alleged corpse. He meets Whitton and Dyer for the first time, having been placed in contact with them via Steve Kull, a fellow bigfoot enthusiast with a radio show.
Whitton and Dyer take Biscardi to the freezer where they've been storing their claim. Biscardi is impressed. "Be still my heart, I felt bad for the poor thing," Biscardi later said when recalling his first glimpse of the rubber gorilla costume full of animal innards. "After being in the industry for the past 30 years, I wondered: Was it diseased? Did it die of old age?"[2]
Three days later Biscardi's Searching for Bigfoot, Inc. would enter a contract with Whitton and Dyer.
July 28, 2008
Due to mounting notoriety over a series of youtube videos, Whitton and Dyer agree to a phone interview on Steve Kulls' Sasquatchdetective Radio show. The two field questions for an hour and express interest in handing over their investigation to bigfoot authority Tom Biscardi.
Why Tom Biscardi, a man with a reputation that can charitably be described as lacking?
Dyer credits the internet. "You type in 'Bigfoot' and that's the name that comes up."[2]
July 9th, 2008
Dyer and Whitton post a video on youtube claiming that they possess a bigfoot corpse and have been storing it for months in their freezer. They use this opportunity to boorishly boast to be "the best bigfoot trackers in the world."[9]
A followup video is posted in which a scientist discusses examining the body. The scientist is shortly outed as Whitton's brother, a photographer.[9]
The next video features a teddy bear doll with a can of nuts propped in its paws.
Why nuts?
So the teddy bear can goad bigfoot researchers into "play[ing] with them," of course.[9]
One wonders if Biscardi watched these videos before committing involvement.
Interesting fact: $50,000 can buy roughly 12,500 cans of nuts.
May/June 2008
During his non-bigfoot-related day job as Clayton County Police officer, Whitton is "wounded in the line of duty while apprehending a suspect that had allegedly shot a woman in the head".[8] Whitton is placed on temporary leave.
Whitton is faced with an uneventful summer containing entirely too much freetime.
Epilogue: August 19th, 2005
Tom Biscardi appears on the Coast to Coast AM radio show and announces a pay-per-view event in which people can view a captured bigfoot.
Refunds are announced five days later.[9]
Sources
[1]11.com: Clayton Cop Fired After Bigfoot Hoax
[2]WSBTV.com: Georgia Bigfoot Hunters Reveal 'Evidence' At Press Conference
[3]www.bigfoottracker.com (now defunct)
[4]Searching for Bigfoot Discovers the Truth
[5]Fox News: Bigfoot Hoaxers Still On the Lam
[6]Chicago Tribune: Bigfoot revealed as big hoax
[7]Scientific American: Bigfoot Press Conference Yields Little Evidence, Lots of Scorn
[8]Fox News: Bigfoot Body Revealed to Be Halloween Costume
[9]Autumn Williams' Investigative Report: Anatomy of a Hoax
Note: all text quoted from sources is accurate at time of publishing, but I am not responsible for future changes by their parent news organizations.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
August
The trees glowed green against the pink-yellow sky tonight, the air heavy and pregnant with tense possibility.
I hope it fucking explodes.
I hope it fucking explodes.
Who watches the Watchmen?
Warning: very minor Watchmen spoilers follow.
So how do you adapt the most celebrated graphic novel of all time, anyway?
Perhaps the definitive adult take on the superhero genre, Watchmen was the first comic to really deconstruct the concept of "people dressing up in tights to fight crime" and explore all the ramifications. If the various tropes of the costumed crimefighter/superhero genre existed in the real world, what would the results be?
Watchmen, that's what.
The problem with adapting Watchmen to film is that doing the source material justice would involve constructing the world's most expensive character-driven ensemble drama. Actors would walk from one budget-busting set to another, doing little more than, well, talking.
Occasionally in costume.
Judging from the preview, director Zack Snyder's approach to adapting Watchmen is to adhere fanboy-frothingly close to the source material while sexing each scene up as much as possible. The characters will spring directly from the pages and trace the well-familiar plot but with with explosions in slow motion and colors as saturated as possible.
Watchmen fanboys--a demographic that includes myself--have so far been pretty pleased with what promises to be a visually stirring faithful rendition of the most holy of comics, and as such I feel almost remiss in shitting on the party and reminding everyone that Watchmen really, really shouldn't be sexy.
Watchmen is a brutal, gritty book of characters either plagued with self doubt or driven by power to amorality. Characters fight, argue, and have sex, but to make them seductive is to place the audience too clearly on their side. Batman movies are about how cool it would be to be Batman--let's face it, for all the man-it's-tough-being-Batman shit you leave the theater wishing your parents had been gunned down in an alley--but Watchmen is about the self-conscious knowledge that dressing up to play vigilante is inherently kind of unhealthy. Watchmen is unflinching in its examination of the men behind the masks, and the need to dress up is constantly likened to a form of borderline-juvenile addiction. It is sexy, yes, but only to those weird enough to ignore the what-the-fuck of it all and feel the calling in the first place.
Not exactly helping matter is Zack Snyder himself. As he said in a recent piece published in Entertainment Weekly:
While everything Zack said is accurate in regards to the source material, his delivery promises badass transgressive entertainment, which is about as un-Watchmenlike as you can get. Superman doesn't care about humanity and it's cold and lonely. Batman can't get it up and it's linked to insecurity and addiction. The bad guy wants world peace, yes, but it's the introduction of a complex moral question.
Watchmen is a deconstruction of a genre. It is not "a kick in the gut."
Watchmen is not sexy.
Rorschach is debatably the Watchmen character that gains the most from his alias. His everyday life is pathetic and squalid, but there is a genuine power he derives from his alter-ego, and it's difficult not to sympathize with the nasty little shit's feelings of violation when he is unmasked.
And yet, even Rorschach eventually drops the alias and faces his fate as a man, not a superhero.
One wonders if such an action will make sense in Snyder's universe.
And in the end, who watches the Watchmen?
Me, whether it turns our good or not.
So how do you adapt the most celebrated graphic novel of all time, anyway?
Perhaps the definitive adult take on the superhero genre, Watchmen was the first comic to really deconstruct the concept of "people dressing up in tights to fight crime" and explore all the ramifications. If the various tropes of the costumed crimefighter/superhero genre existed in the real world, what would the results be?
Watchmen, that's what.
The problem with adapting Watchmen to film is that doing the source material justice would involve constructing the world's most expensive character-driven ensemble drama. Actors would walk from one budget-busting set to another, doing little more than, well, talking.
Occasionally in costume.
Judging from the preview, director Zack Snyder's approach to adapting Watchmen is to adhere fanboy-frothingly close to the source material while sexing each scene up as much as possible. The characters will spring directly from the pages and trace the well-familiar plot but with with explosions in slow motion and colors as saturated as possible.
Watchmen fanboys--a demographic that includes myself--have so far been pretty pleased with what promises to be a visually stirring faithful rendition of the most holy of comics, and as such I feel almost remiss in shitting on the party and reminding everyone that Watchmen really, really shouldn't be sexy.
Watchmen is a brutal, gritty book of characters either plagued with self doubt or driven by power to amorality. Characters fight, argue, and have sex, but to make them seductive is to place the audience too clearly on their side. Batman movies are about how cool it would be to be Batman--let's face it, for all the man-it's-tough-being-Batman shit you leave the theater wishing your parents had been gunned down in an alley--but Watchmen is about the self-conscious knowledge that dressing up to play vigilante is inherently kind of unhealthy. Watchmen is unflinching in its examination of the men behind the masks, and the need to dress up is constantly likened to a form of borderline-juvenile addiction. It is sexy, yes, but only to those weird enough to ignore the what-the-fuck of it all and feel the calling in the first place.
Not exactly helping matter is Zack Snyder himself. As he said in a recent piece published in Entertainment Weekly:
"In my movie, Superman doesn't care about humanity, Batman can't get it up, and the bad guy wants world peace," Snyder says with a smirk. "Will Watchmen be the end of superhero movies? Probably not. But it sure will kick them in the gut."
While everything Zack said is accurate in regards to the source material, his delivery promises badass transgressive entertainment, which is about as un-Watchmenlike as you can get. Superman doesn't care about humanity and it's cold and lonely. Batman can't get it up and it's linked to insecurity and addiction. The bad guy wants world peace, yes, but it's the introduction of a complex moral question.
Watchmen is a deconstruction of a genre. It is not "a kick in the gut."
Watchmen is not sexy.
Rorschach is debatably the Watchmen character that gains the most from his alias. His everyday life is pathetic and squalid, but there is a genuine power he derives from his alter-ego, and it's difficult not to sympathize with the nasty little shit's feelings of violation when he is unmasked.
And yet, even Rorschach eventually drops the alias and faces his fate as a man, not a superhero.
One wonders if such an action will make sense in Snyder's universe.
And in the end, who watches the Watchmen?
Me, whether it turns our good or not.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Review: The Dark Knight
Riding ridiculous waves of hype, The Dark Knight was dubbed the greatest movie ever by nerds the world over and Oscar talk circled the late Heath Ledger for his take on the Joker, all for a film that nobody had actually seen yet. As such, now that The Dark Knight is actually out it's difficult to resist the urge to lash back at the hyperbole and lean on the film's many real flaws. Unsurprisingly, it's not perfect. It's too long and I left the theater largely dissatisfied.
But is it any good?
I'm one of the few who found series predecessor Batman Begins to be awkward and boring, an attempt to reinvent the series in a style that didn't exactly play to the source material's strengths. The film was so intent on taking itself seriously that it jettisoned the weirdness and color of a good Batman movie, and its few comic-booky moments felt like they were grafted in from an entirely different (and more playful) film. Not a bad film, exactly, but dull and disjointed.
Thankfully The Dark Knight is a massive step in the right direction on almost all fronts, in no small part due to the massive influx of color that his Heath Ledger's Joker. His comment that Gotham "needs a better class of criminal" holds true to the series as well, and his limping, lip-licking embodiment of chaos is the nerve center of the film. He isn't all that Joker, really--not prankish enough, and where's the twisted glee?--but just try to resist leaning forward in anticipation every time he appears on screen.
And yet part of the charm is his Joker is genuinely terrifying, a destructive nightmare of a villain. He isn't some likable antihero with plans to take over the world so much as an unhinged self-made terrorist. He's as repulsive as he is compelling, an uneasy wild card you wouldn't want in your backyard. He's not without a certain charisma, true, and he does draw laughs, but only of the most queasy and uncomfortable kind.
Ledger is a highlight, but the rest of the cast holds their own. Aaron Eckhart is great as Harvey Dent, all hard-nosed vulnerable bravado, and Maggie Gyllenhaal is the better Rachel Dawes in that unlike Katie Holmes she can actually act. Morgan Freeman, Gary Oldman, and Michael Caine all do their usual excellent work, despite being given some of the film's most awkward dialogue.
Yeah, about that: the script is largely rubbish, with far too many self-important monologues on being the hero the city needs or the nature of chaos and sixteen ways in which it can be presented. Even Ledger's seductive performance can't quite rescue some of the clunkers he's handed, all subtlety erased by the time he's done expounding on whatever the fuck. The film repeatedly swings for gravitas and utterly misses, hamstrung by ambition that frequently outstrips the writing.
And god is it too long, overstaying its welcome by at least a half hour. The last act is largely bungled, with Joker's arc unceremoniously dumped in favor of clumsily shoehorning in another villain. The offenses aren't on the level of Spider-man 3 but it's disheartening to see a film turn soggy and confused right when it should be soaring to a tidy conclusion.
Additionally, Nolan still can't quite nail the propulsive energy that defines truly infectious action sequences. Most of the big money scenes unfolded without cohesion and rhythm, getting enough right to squeak by but not exactly pulsing with infectious adrenaline. The climactic scene where Batman infiltrates a skyscraper with hostages, clowns, and a SWAT team (yes, you read that right) was passable, but I dare anyone to explain just what the hell was going on.
But in the end The Dark Knight is a success, an evil little mindfuck of a movie that settles in and refuses to leave. The movie is a study in chaos, with Ledger's Joker pushing the topic from lip service to vulgar display. There is a very real sense of society's safety net falling away, the situation spiraling out of control as the stakes keep escalating. Nolan's decision to de-sexify Gotham into a reskinned Chicago actually helps bring the chaos to a stage we can all relate to. We are the victims of the Joker, our friends and family nothing more than playthings for his violent whim. His reign of terror hits a little too close to home, which is why it just fucking gets under our skin.
The Dark Knight isn't a great movie by any stretch of the imagination. It certainly isn't film of the year material--hell, it wasn't even the best movie I saw this month. But it gets its hooks in you, growing spikes as it settles in. I left the theater largely glad it was over and yet I find myself increasingly thinking of chaos-ravaged Gotham and the depth of Ledger's madness. The Dark Knight wasn't up to the level of, say, Iron Man, and yet it struck a deep chord that only grows stronger over time.
I'm not exactly sure what to do with all this.
But is it any good?
I'm one of the few who found series predecessor Batman Begins to be awkward and boring, an attempt to reinvent the series in a style that didn't exactly play to the source material's strengths. The film was so intent on taking itself seriously that it jettisoned the weirdness and color of a good Batman movie, and its few comic-booky moments felt like they were grafted in from an entirely different (and more playful) film. Not a bad film, exactly, but dull and disjointed.
Thankfully The Dark Knight is a massive step in the right direction on almost all fronts, in no small part due to the massive influx of color that his Heath Ledger's Joker. His comment that Gotham "needs a better class of criminal" holds true to the series as well, and his limping, lip-licking embodiment of chaos is the nerve center of the film. He isn't all that Joker, really--not prankish enough, and where's the twisted glee?--but just try to resist leaning forward in anticipation every time he appears on screen.
And yet part of the charm is his Joker is genuinely terrifying, a destructive nightmare of a villain. He isn't some likable antihero with plans to take over the world so much as an unhinged self-made terrorist. He's as repulsive as he is compelling, an uneasy wild card you wouldn't want in your backyard. He's not without a certain charisma, true, and he does draw laughs, but only of the most queasy and uncomfortable kind.
Ledger is a highlight, but the rest of the cast holds their own. Aaron Eckhart is great as Harvey Dent, all hard-nosed vulnerable bravado, and Maggie Gyllenhaal is the better Rachel Dawes in that unlike Katie Holmes she can actually act. Morgan Freeman, Gary Oldman, and Michael Caine all do their usual excellent work, despite being given some of the film's most awkward dialogue.
Yeah, about that: the script is largely rubbish, with far too many self-important monologues on being the hero the city needs or the nature of chaos and sixteen ways in which it can be presented. Even Ledger's seductive performance can't quite rescue some of the clunkers he's handed, all subtlety erased by the time he's done expounding on whatever the fuck. The film repeatedly swings for gravitas and utterly misses, hamstrung by ambition that frequently outstrips the writing.
And god is it too long, overstaying its welcome by at least a half hour. The last act is largely bungled, with Joker's arc unceremoniously dumped in favor of clumsily shoehorning in another villain. The offenses aren't on the level of Spider-man 3 but it's disheartening to see a film turn soggy and confused right when it should be soaring to a tidy conclusion.
Additionally, Nolan still can't quite nail the propulsive energy that defines truly infectious action sequences. Most of the big money scenes unfolded without cohesion and rhythm, getting enough right to squeak by but not exactly pulsing with infectious adrenaline. The climactic scene where Batman infiltrates a skyscraper with hostages, clowns, and a SWAT team (yes, you read that right) was passable, but I dare anyone to explain just what the hell was going on.
But in the end The Dark Knight is a success, an evil little mindfuck of a movie that settles in and refuses to leave. The movie is a study in chaos, with Ledger's Joker pushing the topic from lip service to vulgar display. There is a very real sense of society's safety net falling away, the situation spiraling out of control as the stakes keep escalating. Nolan's decision to de-sexify Gotham into a reskinned Chicago actually helps bring the chaos to a stage we can all relate to. We are the victims of the Joker, our friends and family nothing more than playthings for his violent whim. His reign of terror hits a little too close to home, which is why it just fucking gets under our skin.
The Dark Knight isn't a great movie by any stretch of the imagination. It certainly isn't film of the year material--hell, it wasn't even the best movie I saw this month. But it gets its hooks in you, growing spikes as it settles in. I left the theater largely glad it was over and yet I find myself increasingly thinking of chaos-ravaged Gotham and the depth of Ledger's madness. The Dark Knight wasn't up to the level of, say, Iron Man, and yet it struck a deep chord that only grows stronger over time.
I'm not exactly sure what to do with all this.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
The trouble with cheese balls
One thing my two year old nephew discovered this past weekend is that he really likes cheese balls.
Not actual balls of cheese, mind you. We're talking puffy round crisps of toxic waste that come in a big plastic barrel and were available at a family picnic this past Saturday. Little orange terrors that exist to make room for baby carrots.
My nephew couldn't get enough.
The problem with all this is an afternoon spent eating cheese balls results in an afternoon spent shitting cheese balls and my poor nephew was no exception. By the end of the day his poor butt was so sore from crapping cheese balls that my brother-in-law decided to slather him with vaseline for relief.
A further complication, though, was the cheese ball farts, which descended upon my nephew at that very moment. I heard him giggling like a little boy and then regrettably turned to see what was so funny. There he was, hoisted up by his feet and beaming while he repeatedly farted vaseline out of his anus.
I saw this.
There is an identical plastic barrel of cheese balls three cubicles down at work.
Not actual balls of cheese, mind you. We're talking puffy round crisps of toxic waste that come in a big plastic barrel and were available at a family picnic this past Saturday. Little orange terrors that exist to make room for baby carrots.
My nephew couldn't get enough.
The problem with all this is an afternoon spent eating cheese balls results in an afternoon spent shitting cheese balls and my poor nephew was no exception. By the end of the day his poor butt was so sore from crapping cheese balls that my brother-in-law decided to slather him with vaseline for relief.
A further complication, though, was the cheese ball farts, which descended upon my nephew at that very moment. I heard him giggling like a little boy and then regrettably turned to see what was so funny. There he was, hoisted up by his feet and beaming while he repeatedly farted vaseline out of his anus.
I saw this.
There is an identical plastic barrel of cheese balls three cubicles down at work.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Quick Reviews: What Is the What by Dave Eggers and God's Middle Finger by Richard Grant
What Is the What: The Autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng
Dave Eggers shelves his literary prankster aesthetic for What Is the What, the story of Valentino Achak Deng's perilous flight from his native Sudan and eventual rocky relocation to the States, split by a ten year stay in a bleak Kenyan refugee camp. While never less than readable, Eggers' decision to tell the tale in Deng's voice and bill it as an autobiography--perhaps Eggers hasn't quite shelved the prankster, after all--hamstrings the books; the events are extraordinary and heartrending but the storytelling is just too matter of fact and flat--this happened then that happened then this--for the prose to every really take flight. What Is the What provides a valuable education by presenting a true human story from war-torn Sudan, but one is left wishing Eggers had taken a little more initiative to arrange events into a compelling narrative. A book to read but not quite recommend.
God's Middle Finger: Into the Lawless Heart of the Sierra Madre
British journalist Richard Grant makes clear his "unfortunate fascination" with the Sierra Madre, the mountain range in Mexico that produces most of the marijuana and cocaine that crosses the border into the United States. God's Middle Finger documents Grant's attempt to travel down the spine of the mountains, a network of largely lawless territories marked by dangerous suspicion of outsiders enforced by a proliferation of AK-47s. Grant as narrator is likable, slightly gonzo but generally evenhanded as he tours places with names like El Contrabando and rubs shoulders with corrupt cops and coked-up druglords. Grant manages to (mostly) keep sensationalism at bay and present things fairly, although he finds special glee in kiss offs to the American/European mindset, such as the indigenous Tarahumara who excel at two things: binge drinking and long-distance running. Grant's decision to start things with an explosive scene of being hunted for sport by drugged-out Mexican hillbillies does create a promise that the rest of the book can't quite live up to, but overall God's Middle Finger is a fascinating study of a stretch of land most gringos wouldn't last two hours in.
Dave Eggers shelves his literary prankster aesthetic for What Is the What, the story of Valentino Achak Deng's perilous flight from his native Sudan and eventual rocky relocation to the States, split by a ten year stay in a bleak Kenyan refugee camp. While never less than readable, Eggers' decision to tell the tale in Deng's voice and bill it as an autobiography--perhaps Eggers hasn't quite shelved the prankster, after all--hamstrings the books; the events are extraordinary and heartrending but the storytelling is just too matter of fact and flat--this happened then that happened then this--for the prose to every really take flight. What Is the What provides a valuable education by presenting a true human story from war-torn Sudan, but one is left wishing Eggers had taken a little more initiative to arrange events into a compelling narrative. A book to read but not quite recommend.
God's Middle Finger: Into the Lawless Heart of the Sierra Madre
British journalist Richard Grant makes clear his "unfortunate fascination" with the Sierra Madre, the mountain range in Mexico that produces most of the marijuana and cocaine that crosses the border into the United States. God's Middle Finger documents Grant's attempt to travel down the spine of the mountains, a network of largely lawless territories marked by dangerous suspicion of outsiders enforced by a proliferation of AK-47s. Grant as narrator is likable, slightly gonzo but generally evenhanded as he tours places with names like El Contrabando and rubs shoulders with corrupt cops and coked-up druglords. Grant manages to (mostly) keep sensationalism at bay and present things fairly, although he finds special glee in kiss offs to the American/European mindset, such as the indigenous Tarahumara who excel at two things: binge drinking and long-distance running. Grant's decision to start things with an explosive scene of being hunted for sport by drugged-out Mexican hillbillies does create a promise that the rest of the book can't quite live up to, but overall God's Middle Finger is a fascinating study of a stretch of land most gringos wouldn't last two hours in.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Dram is too tightly
I did something this past weekend that I swore I'd never do.
I've always built my personal computers from parts purchased individually. It was a point of pride, for one, and I also just liked the physical nature of laying one's computer on the operator table and rearranging its guts by hand. I enjoyed taking it apart, putting it back together again, and then finally powering it up.
Which transitions nicely to what i didn't like about assembling computers by hand: troubleshooting why it didn't power up successfully.
Let me relate to you a brief story.
Two years ago I was having problems starting up my computer. It would turn on but then hang before the BIOS options were even available. It would hang for several minutes until the following error message of tortured English appeared: "Dram timing is too tightly so reload timing"
I will never forget those words.
This problem was initially a minor inconvenience as the machine would power up after a false start or two, but eventually the situation got so bad that I once spent the better part of a Sunday evening trying to power up my computer.
As you can image, I was also relentlessly troubleshooting this issue. I did a bit of googling and decided to replace the RAM.
That didn't help.
I decided to replace the power supply.
That seemed to help a bit, but the problem still persisted enough to suggest the power supply to be little more than a red herring.
Running out of options, I decided to replace the motherboard.
This ended up being a multi-step process as it wasn't until I had completely disassembled my computer that I realized the motherboard wasn't compatible with my processor.
I was due for an upgrade anyway, so I replaced my processor.
That didn't help.
What did help, though, was the diagnostics light grid on my new motherboard. As I sat there, utterly dispirited as my computer whirred away while doing nothing, I noticed the lights blinking at me, and looking up the pattern in the manual I realized the motherboard was reporting graphics card problems.
The graphics card, incidentally, being the one part left that I hadn't replaced.
And so I replaced the graphics card.
Which did help.
And so it was--via new RAM, power supply, motherboard, processor, and finally graphics card--that my computer could finally be reliably powered up.
And on that topic: I did something this past weekend that I swore I'd never do.
I bought a Dell.
I've always built my personal computers from parts purchased individually. It was a point of pride, for one, and I also just liked the physical nature of laying one's computer on the operator table and rearranging its guts by hand. I enjoyed taking it apart, putting it back together again, and then finally powering it up.
Which transitions nicely to what i didn't like about assembling computers by hand: troubleshooting why it didn't power up successfully.
Let me relate to you a brief story.
Two years ago I was having problems starting up my computer. It would turn on but then hang before the BIOS options were even available. It would hang for several minutes until the following error message of tortured English appeared: "Dram timing is too tightly so reload timing"
I will never forget those words.
This problem was initially a minor inconvenience as the machine would power up after a false start or two, but eventually the situation got so bad that I once spent the better part of a Sunday evening trying to power up my computer.
As you can image, I was also relentlessly troubleshooting this issue. I did a bit of googling and decided to replace the RAM.
That didn't help.
I decided to replace the power supply.
That seemed to help a bit, but the problem still persisted enough to suggest the power supply to be little more than a red herring.
Running out of options, I decided to replace the motherboard.
This ended up being a multi-step process as it wasn't until I had completely disassembled my computer that I realized the motherboard wasn't compatible with my processor.
I was due for an upgrade anyway, so I replaced my processor.
That didn't help.
What did help, though, was the diagnostics light grid on my new motherboard. As I sat there, utterly dispirited as my computer whirred away while doing nothing, I noticed the lights blinking at me, and looking up the pattern in the manual I realized the motherboard was reporting graphics card problems.
The graphics card, incidentally, being the one part left that I hadn't replaced.
And so I replaced the graphics card.
Which did help.
And so it was--via new RAM, power supply, motherboard, processor, and finally graphics card--that my computer could finally be reliably powered up.
And on that topic: I did something this past weekend that I swore I'd never do.
I bought a Dell.
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